


calculation in chaos

by carrionkid



Series: tumblr requests 2018 [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Factor (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: prompt: I’m a trashy person so for the fic request thing may I plz request gory angsty Shatterstar/rictorhi anon! i woke up at 2:30am and wrote the skeleton of this fic frantically, then woke up this morning and added all the important muscly and fleshy bits to it. i hope you ACHE reading this.takes place in that really nebulous time spent on mojoworld in x factor.--They can only jump forward a little bit at a time without it hurting Star. This is new, new and scary and uncharted, but it's the best chance they have for getting back to Earth. Arize promised he’d have something to help them get back to the right time if they just kept jumping three years forward at a time. This is their fourth jump, there’s only one left but it usually takes Star a little over a week to recover.Star knows all the best hiding places, knows the winding spaces between the outer and inner wall of the arena like the back of his hand. Rictor tries not to think about that too much.





	calculation in chaos

They can only jump forward a little bit at a time without it hurting Star. This is new, new and scary and uncharted, but it's the best chance they have for getting back to Earth. Arize promised he’d have something to help them get back to the right time if they just kept jumping three years forward at a time. This is their fourth jump, there’s only one left but it usually takes Star a little over a week to recover.

 

Star knows all the best hiding places, knows the winding spaces between the outer and inner wall of the arena like the back of his hand. Rictor tries not to think about that too much.

 

They're hiding now, keeping still until lights out in an access vent up high. It's cramped and he doesn't like being away from the ground, but the planet underneath him feels angry. He feels like a tumor and it wants him gone as much as he wants to leave. At least light filters in through the large fan, moving almost lazily.

 

The light is harsh and fluorescent and _constant_ and Rictor feels panicky every time he tries to think about what it must’ve been like growing up on a planet without a sun. The cloud cover might just be too thick to see it, but that’s almost more terrifying.

 

That doesn’t matter much because the arena is closed in, lights on a clockwork schedule that shuts off after the few audience members have left. Nobody even bothers to clean up the blood, all brightly colored to help differentiate between who’s hurt, it’s just left to soak into the packed dirt of the stage.

 

Every other day, it’s dark. No fights, no crowd. Star called it ‘fixing day’.

 

Rictor can hear the crowd, can hear the announcers prattling on, but tries to ignore it. There’s a lot he tries to ignore these days. Star works over his blades; they're in perfect condition but he's been on edge all week. It's not easy to block out the fights when Star won't do anything other than stress. He barely talks these days; Rictor _understands_ but it doesn’t make things easy. It doesn't help that the fan stalls every hour or so and gives a clear view.

 

It sounds _normal_ , that’s what gets him the most. It sounds like any other crowd at any other sporting event, but sometimes there’s a crack of bone, or wordless pleading in a language Rictor doesn’t know. He puked during the first fight, a combination of whatever fragmented memories he had from his time fighting and from actually _seeing_ it instead of _doing_ it. Star held his hair back without a word.

 

(They did something to him. Fucked with his memories. Probably to make him more compliant. There’s so much missing and he’s not sure how much of it is repressed with the intent of popping back up again and how much of it’s just been _deleted_. Plus, there’s the terrifying possibility something old’s been taped over with something new, like whatever kind of brainwashing they pulled on Star.)

 

The crowd is cheering the next time the fan stops and Rictor can't stop his eyes from being drawn. Standing on the bloody packed dirt of the arena floor is a small figure. One with a body lying at his feet that's cut up to the point of being unrecognizable, and long red hair.

 

“That's… that's you,” Rictor can barely manage the two words.

 

A vidfeed streamed live to a projection screen zooms in on the figure. His arms are wrapped around his stomach and it looks like he's screaming along with the crowd. When he shifts, Rictor can see his intestines moving between his fingers. His arms are slick with blood, dayglo oversaturated green, and it finally hits Rictor that Star’s blood is like that because it looks good on a screen.

 

Tears pick at his eyes, hot and angry and only falling when the vidfeed moves in closer to his face. It's so soft, even when it's splattered in blood.

 

“We,” Rictor manages between silent sobs, “We have to do something.”

 

“We cannot,” Star says, not looking up from his swords.

 

“We have to, we can't… can't let… let you,” Rictor reaches out for Star, only catching his shirt because he can barely breathe, much less think.

 

Star sets his swords aside, placing his hands on Rictor's shoulders. Rictor closes the already small gap between them, clinging onto Star and trying to focus on how solid he feels.

 

“We cannot do anything,” Star whispers, “I have to find you.”

 

“I… I can't, I can't, please, Star, we have to help, I can't leave you.”

 

Star shifts enough to press his forehead to Rictor’s, hands against his cheeks.

 

“I am here. I am still _alive._ I have to find you elsewhen so we can become ourselves.”

 

“No, no, no, there _has_ to be another way,” he's halfway to shouting but they have to be quiet.

 

“I _healed,_ Julio. I healed and I lived and I _found you._ It is okay, you know I am here. It is a guarantee that I survive. We cannot interfere.”

 

Rictor nods, it's a painful action, a painful surrender. He wipes his tears with the back of his hand. It’s gonna haunt him, knowing that he was this close to saving Star, knowing that Star _doesn’t_ hate him for not saving him. It doesn’t make any sense at all, he should despise Rictor for leaving that kid there to suffer.

 

And for what? Just so they can meet?

 

He’d rather be alone forever than do _nothing._

 

Star moves back against the wall, pulling Rictor along until he’s leaning against him, tucked under Star’s arm. He rests his head on Star’s chest, arms wrapped tight around his waist to try to convince himself that this Star is real.

 

“Why would anyone _watch_ that? Why would anyone _enjoy_ that?”

 

The words sound choked and Rictor thinks he already knows the answer.

 

Star works his fingers through Rictor's hair, the closest thing to softness they’ve managed in months, “I am still trying to figure that out.”


End file.
